The Country of Ice Cream Star

by Sandra Newman

  Then a gunshot deafen loud. As I startle, come more gunshots, pounding into everywhere. We both gone flailing to the ground. I fall clumsy, belly down. Be scrabbling hard in panic, like I need some lower ground beneath. Gunshots kicking all my sense, be like a hundred guns at once. Pass a gasping madness before I find my hold upon Kalash. Look up squinting, almost blind. Eyes themself be fearing. Gunshots go in bursts, knock all my courage twenty ways.

  But when I look up, Pasha kneeling. I stare at him unknowing, and he wave me angry up. Only then, I feel how nothing changen in the air. Shots ain’t come at us, be somewhere else – and then they stop. Stop like nothing been. Hear voices shouting somewhere. Be too far to comprehend.

  First moment, I ain’t brave to move. Feel like any part I show will be shot into pieces. Then I grit my jaw, I creep one leg to rising pose. Yell swears in my head, and grip Kalash as I get to my feet.

  I feel the nothing in my flesh. How the air stand calm around, ain’t nothing killing me. Voices dimmer in the woods beyond. A horsen neigh.

  Pasha be standing in some staring terror. Rifle to his shoulder, but he got no aiming face. And I shoulder up Kalash. Go forward quick, ware angry in the trees. I stalk into my terror. Hear Pasha hasten noisy after, but I got no care for this. I only feel the smell of smoke. A rustling through the trees. Where those shots been.

  Then in the woods before, my eye catch a moving shape. I startle jolten. Rifle falter as I start to duck. Then it recognize. A horse. It move at shouting distance, shape confusing in the trees. I ware my gun again, my finger slipping sweaty on the trigger. Watch feroce until it feel like I must see through these trees. See everything I need. But I only see the horsen shape in shifting parts of brown.

  Now Pasha stalking past. I go along, my rifle moving awkward to my walking. And we come toward this horse, and see the trees and see the horse. Be this and then there be some quiet smoke. Another horse beyond.

  We stop in thinner woods, among a dozen nervy horses. A fire be burning low. Is various trash around, and no one there.

  Now our paths confuse. We turning, seeking, aim guns every way. One moment, I turn round and touch my shoulder at a horse’s nose. It snort and back away, and when I look, I know the NewKing’s buckskin stallion, Beg-No-Pity. Is like a memory jump out from my head.

  Then Pasha call to me, low-voice. I want to shout at him to hush. But I come along, see where he waring on the ground. My rifle loosen in my aching arms.

  On the ground, lain curlen, be the feather red Malik. His cardinal feathers crush along the earth, and blood lie red behind. Blood gone particular on the fallen leaves, confuse their different shapes. Now it remember senseless, he First Runner’s brother born. Remember how I fight him once, and he start giggling foolish when I clout him in the eye with mud.

  I whisper dumb, ‘He dead?’

  Pasha crouch beside. Expect, he going to touch Malik, but he reach down where a pistol fallen from the feather’s hand. Grab this hasty, rise again. Shove the pistol in a pocket and say in undervoice, ‘He dead.’

  ‘How you know?’

  Pasha ignore this. He looking round, a frown set deep. Then his eyes sharpen. He shoulder up his rifle, go in crouch against a tree. And I hear voices come again. I almost swear. I want to run. But I take my rifle up. And I be turning, watching for whatever I must fear, when Pasha swear beside.

  I start to see the motion gathering – something strange that come from all the woods – when Pasha grab my rifle. Yank it down. Panic freak in me. I grip Kalash in watery hands, but Pasha pull it by again, and move in sudden certainty to stand in front of me.

  First I see be rifles. And for some moment, this be all I know. Is rifles going to shoot me. Trembling starting in my knees. Then Pasha free Kalash and drop his rifle sudden to the dirt. Lift hands up clear above his head.

  And some dozen strangers come in, walking through the trees. Is boyish children, jones I never seen before. All is wearing brownish jackets, and all is pointing rifles. My mind go too clear. Can hear each step, can hear how other children come behind me. And in front of me, I see my Pasha’s back, held stiff and painful. How his hands be shaking, where he hold them in the air. A curl of brownish seed caught in his hair, and some motive in me want to catch it out. I rid this thought, and in some inkling dread, I drop Kalash. She fall and thud like any object, but my heart react. I crave and crave to grab her back. Be like I cannot breathe without. Hands be trembling same as Pasha’s, I grip them into sweaten fists. Sweat draw a sharp line down my back.

  A stranger shout some angry words. Cannot comprehend, I feel my mind gone deaf somehow. Roo’s shoulders ease a breathen touch. He call back. But I ain’t comprehend this neither, is like some madness wasten me.

  Stranger talk again, and Pasha answer. Cannot see this talking child, is hid by Pasha’s shoulder. But it start to comprehend, is words like fisher Panish. Ain’t my brain is wrong. Is unknown words. Somehow this feel like a promise, how this can come good again. And I fasten on these words. Try to find some meaning, but nothing recognize.

  Pasha say another word, sound almost like a warning. Then his right hand ease gradual to his pocket. He pull out the pistol of Malik with only fingers. Lift slow, gun hanging limp, and drop it to the ground beside. Then he say, in strain and furiose voice, ‘Ice Cream. Leave your rifle.’

  ‘I done,’ I say. ‘Is done.’

  He crane his head somehow, look to Kalash beside my feet. Then his shoulders ease. He call more Panish, and a child come jogging, crouch by us. Child’s elbow hit my leg as he gather our guns, and he grin scary to me. Say something and laugh at himself. Then he step back and lose among the others. Here I feel a nakedness. All my body want Kalash. I turn around, and at my back, it be more children standing.

  In this, it start to comprehend, there be some forty children. Forty boyish children with forty rifles in forty brownish coats, their hair cut close the same. Is like a weirdo dream. Come uncanny, how their faces various, they move each in different sense.

  Then, behind, a girlish voice cry glad and furiose. All these rifle children turn, be like a wind go through. They laughing as they step apart. One and one, the rifles turn from us, they loosen sideways.

  And through this sudden path come Soledad.

  35

  THE ROADING PEOPLE

  She wear a brownish jacket like the others, over her same jeans. Jeans of Asha Badmouth, patch on both their knees with darker cloth. Simper come grinning huge, walk like her feet themself be breathless. Cry a Panish word, and all the rifle children laugh.

  Then she spread her arms. For a breath bizarre, she stand and stretch like joy outside herself. Her pitchy voice come up, ‘Ice Cream!’

  Pasha shift before me, turn to look into my face. See his eyes, is like he dead and walking. Like no person there.

  I say to him in breaking voice, ‘Is Soledad.’ Then it remember, he ain’t know her name. I shrug and step around him as the simper dash to me, she grab me ardent to herself. Her body feeling small and helpful. I begin to cry at this, I say, ‘Goddamn, what happening?’

  She say in laughter, ‘Be my people. We got you now, you bone. You right.’

  She turn her head and call more Panish, bold. Rifle children walk toward, and I grip her in blind uncourage as they come close. Now they at touching distance all around.

  Soledad ease back from me, is smiling all her eyes. ‘Ain’t got to worry now. We take you.’

  I shake my head, feel stupid in my wits. ‘Ain’t want no taking.’

  ‘Nay, be bone. Ain’t nothing mally.’

  Then I notice children grabbing Pasha. Cold go through my stomach. They pulling at his arms behind, fix some metal joins upon. Take me a stumbling second before I understand this object. Word come to me, handcuffs, be a sleeper artifact. But cannot remember why it use – if it be only science rope, or do some hurt beyond.

  They pull Pasha forward, and I cry out lowish in my throat as he be took from me. But Soledad keep one arm aroun
d my shoulders, shush me in soft repetition. Be bone, you good, ain’t fear.

  And we walking through the woods, with rifle children crowding round. Some talk to Soledad, and she keep saying, ‘See, see.’ Give her pitchy laugh and grip my shoulders close in sympathy. I saying, ‘Nay, what be with Pasha?’ but she only say her bone and good and never fear me. I want to break and flee, but I got Pasha in my terror. Keep my eyes toward him where he led. His hands seem normal, handcuffs make no blood. His head kept low.

  We come to the road, that patchen road of yesterday. Upon this road, now stand real cars. Ain’t rusten, got full tires upon. Be a sort, got something like a carten shape in back. They gaud in paint, got reddish bluish stripes along their flanks. On one stripe, be writ in white: DEFENSA, C. DE LAS MARIAS. I stare at this unknowing.

  Here be some discussion. Soledad release my shoulders, start to argue in. A tallish child come to, he answer her with tired anger. She go mad to this, be pointing back at me and yelling.

  Can see Pasha on the other side of all these talking children, stood with thinking misery in his face. One child hold his elbow, another point a rifle on him. He watch on me like I be something past.

  Then Soledad turn to me, is looking like her feelings injure. Say in her argue voice, ‘Fools thinking, you jump out. Been telling them, you ain’t some imbecile, jump from a driving car.’

  Here first it comprehending to me right, these cars is working. I shake my head in freshen panic. ‘Nay. Where you be taking us?’

  ‘We only going to a town is by. Can trust me, Ice. I keep you well.’

  ‘Nay,’ I say breathless. ‘Got to get back to my Sengles. Yo Pasha, why he bound like that?’

  This she ignore, she give her pinchen smile. ‘Be bone. Me and my Carlos sit by you. You seeing, this be right.’

  Trip in these cars be like an aching fever. I be took in carten back, with Soledad and five big rifle children. Pasha brought apart, nor I ain’t see him all this journey. The car jerk into motion mostly like a normal cart. But then it gain to speed until it be like falling sideways. Feel like an endless scream somehow, I gripping anywhere I can. Ya, it leap awful from each bump, while roar be fearing in your ears. Trees go past so quick, is like they dropping sudden from a height. Rob hasty from your eyes, and wind hit vicious all directions.

  Rifle children all sit careless to the sides, ya Soledad laugh, while I fight off a puken feeling. All my need be for my Sengles. Feel like a baby small, ain’t got no knowledge to rely. Trees sprinten past. The unknown faces grin, shout words that got no sense. Yo, in this, I notice all the rifle children’s hands is writ upon. Got spidery pictures on their hands, dimmish green and black. Is only drawings, but I feel some monstrous in this, some hell meaning.

  Only help, I look at my own hands. Same hands as ever been. I fix upon their scars from Army camp, still showing dark and light. These be my actual life, was real. This happen to myself. I still be Ice Cream Star, ain’t going to alter anyhow. And the road grind under, shivering in my teeth. Wind beat my braids against my face.

  Only when I hear some scatter shouts, I look up scary. See our Massa camp slip past, all children dodging from the road. Some standing by to stare. I scramble quick, leap to the side, but someone kick my feet from under. I be caught in arms, pull down. I kick and fight, but only get some laughter, shouts around. Soledad be crying, ‘Damn, you done it! Ain’t believe!’ Then I settle weak. Be sitting against this stranger jones, who keep me huggen to. Can only see, above the car back, how some Massas running after, struggling on the road, but it be like they running backwards. They only shrink, and when the highway turn, they wipen gone.

  Then my tears come and I forget. Ain’t even try for nothing. The carren wind dry these tears stiff against my cheeks. My arms still caught by this big jones, I cannot rub my face. Feel this other helplessness as my nose go thick.

  At last, the car turn by and slow. Go on an earthen road, can feel its softer hold beneath. We slowing more, car jerk us backen forth, and stop. Noise sigh and hush.

  Stranger jones let go my arms. I pull sharp from him like I rid an insult. Now I feel some hope again. Camp ain’t likely be too far. All this can explain. I get Pasha, parley for our freedom. These people Soledad’s, she love me well. Still can be right.

  Someone pull the carten back out flat. Soledad stand to her feet, go graciose along the carten floor and leap out to the dirt. Turn back grinning, saying, ‘Almost home, some wonder this.’

  I stand up to my feet. This big jones waring round me with his hands, like I may fall. I walk along the carten bed, feel its weight shift underneath. Jump to dirt, my feet come gratty on its friendly stillness. Here be rifle people moving all around, fetch goods from cars. They go in tasky certainty, but every child stare on me as he pass.

  Place be a normal evac. Can see, ain’t no one living here. These rifle people using this, how Sengles use an evac sometimes as a camping place. Got some low unroofen houses, straggle along a broken road. Closest be a Citgo store, its yardroof burnt and broken. Citgo got its major window busten, open to the air. Inside, is rifle children talking, nosing toward some papers on a table. All this got haunten looks in dawnlight, gray in ghosty wise.

  Then I hold my step. Along the Citgo side, on concree ground, be eight Armies. They kneeling in a row, backs to the wall. All got their arms behind, can figure that they bound like Pasha. Most show signs of beating; bloody lips and fatten eyes. A rifle child ware by them, skinny jones in greenish cap.

  Farthest Army to the right be slumpen forward to the ground. Is dead. His head be crusten blood, and blood smear high upon the wall behind. Blood spread beneath his face, look like a reddish blanket lain for comfort.

  Before him crouch First Runner. Ain’t in this row, her arms be free. Got her hands flat to the dirt, is crying onto these. Her face be cut in petty nicks. It freckle with red hurt. And I recall Malik, dead at their camp. Her brother born.

  I find Crow with my eyes. Find Mamadou in this row, his right arm bandage to his side. Fear start before I know, this ain’t new injuries. Be Pasha’s gunshot. And still, this ain’t feel real to me. Cannot believe is them. Yo, all they Armies stare on me with thoughtless fixity.

  Through this, my heart be catching false. Think any ways this can be right. My face feel wrong with sweat.

  Then Soledad come back. Stand full in my sight, and put her hands on both my shoulders. She look mostly like herself, a panic child with needing eyes. But be a nasty brightness to this. Is like she swallow too much joy, and now it hurt inside.

  ‘You bone?’ she say in her sweet pitchy voice. Close, can smell her boozen breath.

  ‘Nay.’ I try to shift, look past her shoulder. ‘What this be?’

  She tug my shoulders. ‘Heed on me. We going to do this.’

  ‘What happening with they Armies?’

  ‘Foo, ain’t nothing.’ She laugh breathless.

  ‘You going to free them, ya?’

  Soledad pooch her lips. ‘Child, this ain’t yours. You heed me now.’

  I swallow, but my swallow go wrong somehow. I cough weak against this, swallow again. ‘I heed. But you will free them?’

  ‘Ain’t fret. Ain’t got to fear me.’

  ‘Ain’t fearing you, goddamn. Got better fears.’

  ‘You got no fears, I saying. Heed.’ She narrow seriose. Her fingers tighten in my shoulders. ‘How you found your Pasha Roo?’

  ‘Ain’t found him. He been by me all this time. We gone for you.’

  ‘Nay, shoo. When Sengles found him first.’

  ‘Found him …’ I try to see behind her again, she catch my shoulders fast. Eyes look some jitter feeling. Be like joy and panic in one mood.

  She say in teaching voice, ‘How you found him. Who been by you then?’

  ‘Ya, Driver find him. In an evac that we burnt, roo come out running. Ain’t no news in this.’

  Soledad nod, stroke on my shoulder. ‘Bone. Was Driver there. What other children been?’


  ‘Ain’t know,’ I say. But then it start to answer in my mind. Be comfort to recall this day, is sweet in townie distance. ‘Ho, been Keepers by. Asha Badmouth and Jermaine. And myself, is all was there.’

  ‘Is four.’ Hands on my shoulders soften. ‘Sugar, you doing bone. You cool. Now I going to leave you think. You needing twelve, you mind this? Twelve.’

  ‘Ain’t been no twelve. Damn, they going to kill they Armies?’

  Her face go tense. ‘That ain’t your trouble.’

  ‘Why that feather kilt? They Armies taken you again?’

  ‘Nay, we take them,’ she say, smiling queery. ‘This time, they be took.’

  ‘How, for yourself? For how they done you?’

  ‘Ho, should be forgot? Been nothing?’ Soledad laugh high and frighten, sans no smile.

  I shrug against her pinching hands. ‘Can leave them. Sure they … now you safe.’

  ‘Cannot help this,’ she say breathless. ‘Heed to me, you worry for yourself. You going to think of twelve.’

  ‘Who these twelve? Ain’t getting nothing of this.’

  ‘Be your apostles.’ She smile false. ‘Opossums. How you say.’ Then she lean to me, confiding. ‘Sure I know, ain’t been twelve children there. Is politics. Be something you can do for me. We right?’

  I start to cavil, I got no opossums. Got no want for these. But I look on her madden eyes, her smile gone tense into her scars. And I breathe in well. ‘I think.’

  ‘Bone. I going to leave you here with Carlos.’ She speak sharpish past my shoulder. That same big jones who catch me in the car come by. Say some unknown courtesy and aim his rifle toward my chest, as Soledad skit hasty off.

  I muttern low and empty, ‘Right, you threaten to kill me. Bone.’ Look around until I find my Pasha. He kneeling like the Armies, by a dusty car. My spirit seize. I turn to Carlos, say, ‘They going to hurt the roo?’

  He smile back meaningless. Is like he sorry for my broken words. Be a twentyish male with friendly eyes, is Christing handsome. I check down at his hand, scribble in greenish spiders and long guns. Ware back on the Armies.